Page 132 of Cry Havoc

Settle down, Tom. Be smooth. Be efficient and then get moving.

He unslung the rifle from the man he had just killed. He recognized it as an AKM. He ensured it was loaded and checked its thirty-round magazine.

Full.

He reinserted it, locking the magazine in place with the distinctive click of the AK’s magazine catch.

Next, he surveyed the scene.

What a mess. Work quickly.

Tom chose the larger of the two men and unslung his canvas messenger bag. It was full of what appeared to be letters and documents. He dumped them on the ground and filled the bag with the items from the pockets of his uniform: signal mirror, notebook and pen, map, morphine, pen flare, whistle, marking panel, and the claymore that was attached to his chest. He used the Swiss Army Knife in his pocket to cut its own paracord lanyard and deposited that in the satchel as well.

Faster.

Tom tore off his shirt and removed the AK chest rig and black pajama top from the larger soldier. Luckily it was baggy on the dead man, which meant it was tight on Tom but still wearable. He then inspectedthe chest rig. Made of green cotton, there were three pouches across the front that held two magazines each. The pouches were secured with wood toggles. Along with the magazine in the weapon, Tom now had 210 rounds of 7.62 x 39mm. A side pouch held a crude Vietnamese version of a ChiCom stick grenade. Tom inspected it with skepticism. A metal head held the explosive and was attached to a wooden handle with four small nails. A pull string crept from under the head connected to the handle with wax.

Well, it’s made it this far.

He reached into the second side pouch, expecting to find gauze or a cravat.

Instead, he pulled out a black-and-white photo of the man he had just killed. His arm was around a beautiful young woman who cradled a baby in her arms. The man and woman were smiling.

He stared at it and then stuffed it back in the pouch, though he did not really know why.

I’ll probably be joining you soon,he thought.

Tom struggled into the chest rig and adjusted it as best he could.

He pulled off the dead man’s pants before untying his own boots, kicking them off, and stripping off his pants. He replaced them with those of the enemy. They wouldn’t quite button at Tom’s waist, so he used the 550 cord from his Swiss Army Knife lanyard to secure it. Neither of the Vietnamese men’s boots were going to fit him, so he put his jungle boots back on. He picked up a boonie hat that had fallen off in the melee and was surprised that it fit. He then wrapped the man’s brown scarf around his neck.

He tested the sharpness of the blade he had used to kill both men. It was an improvised tool that looked like it had been made from a vehicle’s leaf spring. Its soft metal would be convenient to sharpen quickly in the field. It also dulled easily, and after the work it had just done, it more closely resembled a butter knife.

Tom looked at the smaller of the two men, the one he had shot in theface. He turned the soldier over to discover that he too had a knife, and this one was sharp. Tom threw the dull blade into the tree line.

Hydrate.

He pulled the smaller man’s Type 65 Chinese aluminum canteen from where it was slung across his shoulder, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink. Odds were that he would soon regret it, as it almost certainly came straight from a stream and was not treated with iodine or halazone. After downing half its contents, he pulled it from his lips and read the writing across the aluminum body that had been hand painted in camouflage: ÐÁNH TAN GI?C M?XÂM LU?C.Defeat the U.S. Invasion.

He knelt and removed the magazines from the other man’s chest rig and put them in the satchel, along with the one from the man’s weapon. He ejected the round in the chamber and inserted it atop the magazine before tossing the AK off the road. That man had a grenade as well, and Tom placed that in the satchel. He didn’t look in the other small pouch, not wanting to find another photograph.

Four hundred twenty rounds, one claymore, two grenades, and one blade.

Not bad.

He took the untouched satchel, which was also filled with documents and letters, and he stuffed it with the contents he had dumped on the ground earlier along with his shirt and pants and hurled it into the jungle. Then he dragged both men as far into the rainforest as he could before going back and kicking dirt over the blood and drag marks. He picked up the bicycle and pushed it over the site multiple times to try and remove any clues of the struggle.

Any not-so-skilled tracker would find sign, if they were looking. With any luck, this deep into Laos, anyone on the trail would not be as alert as they were closer to the border, and with additional luck, these two messengers would not be missed for a while.

That’s a lot of luck.

I’ll take what I can get.

Tom slung the AK, turned his bicycle around, and took one final look at the scene.

That will have to do.

He threw his leg over the saddle and pedaled north.